Then
by Orion.R.Black
Summary: Set a year later, Hiyoshi struggling with the pressures of being Buchou. Features Hiyoshi, Gakuto, Oshitari, Shishido, references to other Hyoutei members. Rated PG for mild swearing.


The place looked exactly how it did in his memory, so much so that it seemed as if he were just returning to the clubroom after a day's training, instead of visiting a year after he cleared out his regular's locker. The row of computers lined up against the back wall all stared back at him with blank screens, the keyboards and mouse pads tucked neatly in front as if they have not been touched since they were installed into the room. He looked around and spotted the past tennis tournament trophies that the previous captain had taken special care to have housed in their own special cabinet beside the locker reserved for the captain. Stepping into the room, he made his way over to the cabinet and ran a finger down the slick wooden edge. Not a spot of dust, as was the same with each trophy, still gleaming in the sunlight like they were religiously polished each day with immense pride and care. And, as the figure turned to study the captain's locker, they probably were, seeing that through the locker handle hung a piece of cloth, matted after many days of rubbing down the cold metal. The faint scent of roses did not hang around the locker room anymore, he was glad to notice, but other than that, the place was not that different at all. In fact, he almost expected his teammates to come barging in like they used to, shouting and laughing after a day's practice. His captain, his doubles partner, his kouhai. . .

Wait.

There was something amiss, no doubt about it. Even he could tell, and he wasn't one to stand still long enough to take in his surroundings like this. The air suddenly felt heavy, despite the sun streaming through the open door and windows circling the room, and the yells and pounding feet echoing outside. He hadn't noticed before, but there was a lone figure settled back against the side wall with a clipboard balanced on his knees and pen scribbling furiously away.

The visitor paused and cocked his head, staring intently at the person on the floor, whose eyebrows were knitted together and fingers griping a pen, which struck at the paper, paused, reached up to tap on his chin, and then drop like a dead weight, only to resume striking things out again. Dark rings were almost imperceptible under his eyes, hidden by the shadows his bangs cast upon the rest of his face as he sat bent over the paper. Every once in a while a soft, drawn out sign escaped from between clenched teeth.

So intent at work, the figure did not notice the other presence in the room, who had sidled his way over from board table placed in the center of the room, and planted himself right in front of the figure. The visitor's eyes flitted down onto the paper and read the first few characters on the page. _Hiyoshi-buchou_. Hou… So this guy really did make it. A bit put off that his mere presence had not gotten any indication of a response, he shrugged and decided that he couldn't be bothered waiting for something that wasn't going to happen. Instead, he took a step back, filled his lungs, and let his voice ring throughout the room.

"OY~ HIYOKOOOOOO!"

The captain froze, registering neither the voice nor the nickname, his eyes unfocused and unmoving, pen slipping out of his weakened grip. Then something clicked in the back of his mind and the pen clattered to the ground, rolling several meters before it stopped at the shoes of the figure standing at the center of the clubroom. Hiyoshi lifted deadpan eyes to reach the other's, which were as irritatingly bright and bold as the familiar head of hair that belonged to a sempai that he had not seen since the year before. Hiyoshi blinked, trying to get his vision to focus. Another familiar object materialized from behind the jumpy figure: a pair of round glasses, coupled with a faint hint of a smirk, as its owner stepped through the open door to join the other.

"…Mukahi-san …Oshitari-san."

No. These were faces he definitely did not want to see. Not here. Not right now.

Unfortunately, his sempai never paid attention to what it was that he wanted, or rather, they could hardly care less. Mukahi gave a toothy grin, "How's our kouhai doing? Sulking in the clubroom and ditching practice? Not a good example you're setting..." He received a frown for this, but Oshitari put a hand on Mukahi's shoulder to silence him, noting that while Hiyoshi never seemed to be in the mood for any sort of mood lifting, right now in particular was not a good time to try.

Oshitari stood over Hiyoshi and looked down at him. The latter met his gaze and held it, looking suddenly like a caged rabbit. Taking a step forward, he noted how the captain noticeably bristled, and he matched Hiyoshi's frown. "Hey now, we took this special effort to visit and this is the greeting we get? Ootori mentioned that you seemed preoccupied with something lately. Come. Tell us what's on your mind." Hiyoshi's frown deepened. This domineering tone felt out of place, as if it were channeled by…

"Fucking Atobe," Hiyoshi hissed out through gritted teeth. Oshitari raised an eyebrow, and the side of his mouth just barely noticeably twitched at this, but he kept his mouth shut. Hiyoshi immediately flushed and jerked to his feet, ready to lash out at his sempai. A second passed, and he dropped back down to the floor with a soft grunt, the fight extinguished from his eyes. "…Oshitari-san, you're disgusting. I meant that as an adjective and you know it."

It felt strange going against natural impulse, but Mukahi knew better than to laugh at this, for Hiyoshi's face was still reddening and at the moment he looked fit to kill. Instead, Mukahi slid down next to his kouhai and gave him an awkward pat on the head, at which Hiyoshi again gave a jerk, eyes wild and sharp, indignant at having his personal space violated. Mukahi jumped back instinctively to avoid any physical retaliation, shrugged, and hopped over to hide behind his doubles partner. "Take it easy, Hiyo. I was just trying to cheer you up. Y'know, like what you do when a girl is cry—"

"I don't cry!" Hiyoshi growled curtly, seething now. Thinking it was best to not bring up contrary facts concerning a certain match a year ago, the high schoolers fell silent, as did Hiyoshi, who chose to take a keen interest at a spot on the wall and was glaring at it as if it too had personally offended him in some way.

Oshitari looked down behind him and exchanged looks with Mukahi, who tilted his head towards Hiyoshi's direction and shrugged again, unspoken questions dancing in his eyes. Oshitari didn't respond, but the two didn't need Silver Pair caliber telepathy to understand. Obviously Hiyoshi was ticked off about something, or, that is to say, at least a lot more ticked off than usual. As Oshitari had remembered about the younger boy, there wasn't much that could drive Hiyoshi to lose his cool like this, and no matter how hard he must be trying to calm himself down, that look of frustration seemed embedded into a set expression now. The steel grey eyes were as hard and piercing as ever, maybe even more so now, considering the intensity at which the glare had now reached, as if Hiyoshi had set to be his life purpose to bore a hole into the side of the clubroom.

A sharp rap of knuckle on wood sounded at the entrance, breaking the silence and startling the three of them, eyes flashing towards the source the disturbance. Shishido walked in, with an amused look on his face as he noted their expressions. "Hou… I knew I should have come see how you were doing. Looks like Choutarou was right too; Gakuto, Oshitari, you guys didn't make much progress did you?" He turned to Hiyoshi, "Hey, it's been a while. You doing all right?"

"Reinforcements…"

Hiyoshi glared daggers at Mukahi and Oshitari, who both in turn glanced pointedly at Shishido, who scoffed, only half in annoyance of just being brushed off like that. "Contrary to what you may think, the world's not out to get you, Hiyoshi." He sat down with a dull thud at Hiyoshi's side, and slung an arm around the captain's shoulders to prevent him from scooting away, as he was in the process of trying to do. "So…" Shishido turned to his kouhai, "I heard you screaming something about Atobe from halfway across the campus. What's this all about? Still hung up about him?"

Realizing that he was as good as trapped in this room until he complies and talks, Hiyoshi gave a slow nod, avoiding eye contact with anyone else in the room. There was a pause, as if he were expected to say more. He chewed on his bottom lip, refusing to say more, until Shishido gave him a hard nudge in the ribs. Hiyoshi gave a muffled cry of pain and his hand flew up to his mouth. Shishido never thought it was possible for eyes to be on the verge of watering and give the most horrendous death glare he's ever seen at the same time. "C'mon, Hiyoshi…" Mukahi ventured from the other side of the room, his eyes scanning the lockers, trying to remember which one was his and wondering whether he's still be able to open it, but still keeping an ear open on the conversation at hand.

"Atobe," Hiyoshi offered again, as if that cleared up everything. Seeing as it didn't, he tried again, "Do you have any idea what it's like having to lead Hyoutei after everything that guy's done?" He received blank stares. The whole thing frustrated him, but Hiyoshi pulled his knees to his chest and clutched at them, his head down and mumbling to the ground. "I… can't understand why nothing is working, no matter how hard I try. I can't find a doubles team that works together as well as Ootori and you do, Shishido-san. Nor one that's anywhere as good as Mukahi-san and Oshitari-san. So far, no singles player has been able to defeat Kabaji-san either, and whoever I play against to measure their skill always comes short of expectations. There's nobody near as amazing as what we had last year, and there's not much time before the next match. All I can do is help with the fundamentals like strategy and stamina training, but without raw talent, what is there that I can work with? There's—"

He was cut short be a derisive snort, and felt the world topple beneath him, crashing down on the hard ground. Hiyoshi sat up furiously, "What are you—"

An equally furious Mukahi towered over him, and for the first time in his life, Hiyoshi felt smaller than his sempai. "Look here, Piyo," Mukahi narrowed his eyes, "I need you to cut the crap and start using that head of yours. You think Atobe had an easy job because all of us were so great to start with? Don't you remember seeing Ryou getting his ass kicked the first time he played Atobe?" Mukahi ignored the scoff from Shishido and continued before Shishido could interrupt and correct his memory of the incident, "No matter how highly you thought of yourself, you sucked pretty badly as well before, Hiyoko! I remember making fun of you the first time I saw your form, I remember making fun of Ootori when he couldn't get his footwork down because of his ridiculously stupid height— Shut up Ryou! I'm trying to prove a point here!

"The thing is, Hiyo, no one starts off being the best. Hell, you think I'd put up with Atobe and brats like you had I come to Hyoutei starting off as a tennis legend? Doubles teams too; I thought Yuushi was a freak when I first met him," Oshitari's poker face slipped slightly, "but I got to know him after spending so much time with him and now look how amazing we are! You think I don't know about you slipping off after practice is over to work on your strokes until late into the night, but I do! I know because that's what I did, that's what all of us did. To hell with talent, Hiyo! We got to where we are because we worked our asses off! Just look at Ryou's ugly hairc—! Ouch! What the hell, Ryou!"

Hiyoshi scrambled to his feet and grappled with Shishido to get him off of Mukahi's back and from breaking his spine. "It's okay, Mukahi-sempai! I… I understand." Hiyoshi turned away, rubbing the back of his neck, "Everything you said, it's true. I know. I've known it. I was just being an idiot."

"Damn right you were," Mukahi felt fit to add.

Hiyoshi gave a wry sort of grin, "I'm not going to deny it. I guess… I've just been taking the easy way out. Making excuses… I just didn't know how I was supposed to ever live up to his expectations. His… Atobe's."

Grabbing Hiyoshi by the shoulders, Shishido gave the captain a hard shake, "Atobe chose you for a reason, Wakashi. He thought you could handle it. And honestly, I believed it too." He rubbed the cut on his cheek gingerly, "Damn, Gakuto, you fight back hard."

Mukahi scoffed, the fight out of him, and stretched his aching limbs, "As if I'd let you kill me that easily." Hiyoshi couldn't help but smile at this feeling of familiarity that spread over him. Yeah, this was his team. Out there, that was his team as well. If a miracle had gotten people like Shishido and Mukahi to become friends, then perhaps all it will take is a bit of time and work before his team would be up to Atobe's standards. No… Not even that. It will be better.

"Buchou?"

The four of them turned towards the door, where a first year looked nervously around the room. A scrawny looking kid, probably shorter than he, when he was a first year, Mukahi proudly decided. He gave Hiyoshi a pat on the back, and then a less than gentle shove, "Your team's waiting, Piyo."

"That's Hiyoshi-buchou," came the correction, followed by a grateful nod towards the three upperclassmen, before he turned towards the first year.

Without hesitance, the younger student looked up, fierce eyes meeting Hiyoshi's own. Under his captain's hard stare, his gaze faltered for a second, but he shook his head and returned it, "Buchou! I joined this tennis club because I believe you are the best! One day… I'm going to beat you! I'm going to get that singles one spot from you! Just wait!"

Haha…

"Then, it's Gekokujou."


End file.
